Winter Monologue

falling in love with winter is a habit
the forlorn blue skies
the torn edges of the forests grieving 
for the loss
not ready to embrace a new season yet
dormant like me

alone, captured in the winds relentless howl
getting its say
the silence of the night that beckons to be
be quiet
be
just be

words run away
notebooks wait
and the ticking of the inner clock
imitates outside
conducting its own orchestra 
the limbs of the white oak
dance
as their branches creak and grind together
the love that nature makes

hands waking memories
aren't lazy
pen is trailing in ash
sooty
stained
refusing to ignore
the kiss
the farewell
the love that stayed
and the ones that left
no longer mine

stories buried in the frozen forest
words must give it a pulse
because the forest will never tell
pen is executioner 


Winter is the season when all my memories seem to wake up. I thrash through them like a child with a bag of candy. Some things want to be remembered, some people refuse to be forgotten and they keep me company like a ghost living in my pen. It is a season for dreaming, for letting go and learning how at every age we are still growing up and acclimating to this very precious thing we call life. Happy Winter and happy remembering to all. And if you find yourself reading anything of mine thank you  -  Vanessa